Sick From The Treble
by ImpossibleElement
Summary: Well, there was definitely something to be said about concerts.


**Sick From The Treble**

Well, there was definitely something to be said about concerts. It wasn't Sherlock's usual crowd or place, yet here they both were. The owner of the venue in which the gathering was taking place had asked for their help solving a murder that had occurred there a few months prior. The case had been interesting and brilliant, and at one time had them running around on the rafters chasing the homicidal twins. For the detective, that simple puzzle and challenge would have been reward enough, but since they refused any other sort of payment, the owner had granted them both with front row tickets to the concert of some rock band he had never even heard of in retribution.

John, being John, had insisted on going. Saying it would be incredibly rude not to attend when they had basically been gifted with VIP treatment. Of course, the younger man couldn't really care less if he came across as _rude_ , yet all that lark clearly mattered to the blogger. What no one knew, was that for a few weeks, Sherlock had been battling with the growing and evolving feelings he held for his flatmate. And, being completely incompetent at knowing how to handle them, he had mindlessly agreed to go with him. Once John was out of sight, and his distracting smile was nowhere near him to make him tremble in nervousness as was becoming his new habit, he regretted ever saying yes.

The primary reason for this was that he had never gone to a rock concert before, and he was sure he would feel utterly out of place in there. He even had to research what to wear on the internet, for God's sake! And still, all that embarrassment was nothing compared to the second cause that had him hesitant on going; it was the fact that just the day prior to the event, John and him had a huge fight about safety precautions and their inevitable polar-opposites opinions on the subject. Things had been tense ever since, and now the curly-haired was pondering whether a 'night out' would be the best course of action to take to salvage their friendship.

They arrived together to the venue; after sharing the most awkward cab ride in the history of England. The hall was packed with people, and John and Sherlock took their places among the crowd. Looking for all the world like they had no clue how to behave around each other. Sherlock was fidgeting in his barely used tight jeans and just kept looking around as if something on the ground was going to spring up and snatch him away from reality.

"Look, Sherlock." John uttered the first words he said to him in over twenty four hours. "If this makes you uncomfortable, we can go back home." He offered, and the detective felt an extremely calming and warm feeling spread across his chest cavity. Even when angry, his friend still cared enough for him to notice his discomfort and try to sooth him. Moments like this made him wonder how he ever thought he wasn't in deep trouble since the first time he saw him. No matter how much the boffin attempted to be his flatmate's object of desire, John's charm had always been a force to be reckon with; one he had never been able to resist.

"No, it's fine." He answered, even if somewhat unsurely. He supposed that now that they were there, he might as well try to let John have a good time. Preparing himself for a night of torture, he let the matter go and settled in.

Moments after, the lights went down and the band came out on stage. The loud screams and jumping were starting to be too much, leaving him feeling that remaining there was the most terrible decision he had ever taken. Specially since he was the only one in the seeable crowd that was not dancing or moving in any way. Instead, rooted to the spot in apprehension.

Just then, John chose the moment to come closer to him and yell something barely discernible in his ear. "It's okay. Dance with me, Sherlock." He said and smiled, then proceeded to move next to him, grabbing his hand and goading him to sway with the rhythm. At first, he felt utterly ridiculous, no matter how much training he had, he was used to dancing classical pieces and this movement had no obvious pattern to follow. The doctor told him to let himself go, to move freely so that's exactly what he did, and soon they were both dancing like they did this every week.

A few songs passed, and Sherlock had to admit that, even if he was not particularly partial to this genre, the band was quite good, and he was surprised to find himself actually having a good time and enjoying himself. All thanks to the nice music and John. Always John.

Another song started, and it had a playful atmosphere to it that had the detective and his blogger dancing in a very funny manner, gravitating ever closer to each other. Suddenly, John stopped moving completely. Halting in what seemed like realisation. The younger man barely had time to worry about it before he saw a look of determination on the other's face, and before he knew it, he was being dragged by his black shirt and his lips were crashed with that of his flatmate's.

A jolt of electricity passed between them, Sherlock would never stoop so low as to say his knees went week, but that's exactly what happened. They snogged for a few seconds and parted with exhaustion and big grins on their faces. John chose not to try and yell their way through the conversation, it could probably wait until later, so he just winked at his companion and continued dancing. Sherlock felt incredibly grateful for the moment, and vowed he would come to concerts as often as John desired. He shook off the last of his apprehension as he watched his friend move with mirth. Then, not really needing the rock show in the least anymore, he grabbed John's hand once more and followed his lead.

 **Author's note: Can I be your type of metal?**

 **Inspired by No Shows by Gerard Way.**

 **If you like my work, go check out my other stories.**


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